


Confession

by i_ship_an_armada



Series: Inevitable [6]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Angst, Flint has hair, Flint is a stubborn shit, Frottage, John Silver is a Little Shit, M/M, PWP that somehow grew a plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:43:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21740716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_ship_an_armada/pseuds/i_ship_an_armada
Summary: Silver's close call brings a lot of things to a head.
Relationships: Captain Flint | James McGraw/John Silver
Series: Inevitable [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1534355
Comments: 17
Kudos: 79





	Confession

The Dutch sailors are faster, stronger, and more prepared than they imagine, but after a terrible bloody close quarter fight, Flint and his men prevail. 

In the end though, in the end Flint turns around to survey the damage and his heart stops in his chest at the destruction, the death. 

Bodies and blood litter the deck, but he is used to that. No, it’s the body that lays a few meters to his left that rattles Flint, makes him sway on his feet in shock. 

Silver is on his back with his face turned away and is far too still, his dark curls spilling about his head like a halo. A Dutchman, obviously dead if the gaping hole in his back is any indication, drapes over Silver’s unmoving form. 

From then on, the events are a blur in Flint’s mind. He shouts _something_, and it must have been something urgent, because suddenly Billy and Muldoon are there, holding him back and looking more concerned than Flint has ever seen them be worried about anything. Muldoon’s face is a nightmare visage of red gore from a gash on his forehead, the whites of Billy’s eyes are showing through the blacks streaks of his makeup as he keeps saying, “You can’t help him! You _can’t— _Let Howell—"

At Howell’s name, Flint finally stills. If Howell is being beckoned, then Silver must be alive. They would not bother to call him otherwise, would they?

_ Would they? _

Finally, Howell jogs forward and kneels down. With the help of Jacobsen, he hauls the dead Dutchman off of Silver, rolling him to the side, and as they do, Silver groans. 

“What the fuck happened?” come the first words from his mouth. He struggles to sit up but Howell pushes him down, holds him there as he pulls aside Silver’s shirt. The right panel of it is soaked with blood, and Howell is searching for the cause.

“Not mine,” Silver says.

Flint sags and Muldoon squeezes his arm once— something he would never do under normal circumstances, but this is not even close to normal circumstances— and scurries away to help someone else, but Billy stays, his big hands clamped around Flint’s shoulders.

Flint resists him.

“Don’t,” Billy says, his voice low. “Let Howell deal with him.” He looks down at Flint with a silent warning clear in his eyes and Flint knows he is right.

But he growls at him anyway and shoves him aside. Billy must not be expecting this because he stumbles back, but recovers quickly to lean in. 

“Say what you need to say to him in your cabin,” he hisses. “Not. _ here _.”

At the same time, Silver is waiving Howell away who is clucking over him like a mother hen. 

“He just knocked the wind out of me and I passed out.” Silver grimaces as he looks around him and sees the aftermath of their conquest. 

Flint moves past Billy and then feels a hand on his shoulder. When he turns his head slowly, Billy seems as if he will say something more. He always seems like he wants to say something more, but this time Billy shuts his mouth with a click and takes his hand away as if it is on fire at the look Flint gives him.

“Prepare the _ Walrus _ to take on cargo,” Flint growls. 

Billy hesitates and then gives him a terse nod and turns away to do as he is told. 

Flint watches him retreat and thinks this will come to a head, and soon, and he almost calls him back to take care of it now, because the uneasiness between them festers like an infected wound. He does not, though, knowing now is not the time or the place.

When Flint turns around, Silver is near, but he does not look right. His eyes cannot stay in one place and he shifts from foot to foot. 

Flint frowns and he only just resists the urge to reach out and steady him with a hand on his waist. “Silver. What is it?”

“I—” Silver stops, wavers, and Flint takes him by the elbow instead and steers him to the rail. 

“Get back to the ship.”

Silver stiffens and his lips thin. He twists out of Flint’s grip. “I’m fine. You need help here and I can—”

“No,” Flint snaps, his nerves frayed. “That is an order, and you will follow it,” He needs to take care of business here on this ship before he can do what he likes, and he needs Silver out of the way because he does not look to be in shape to be anything but underfoot. When Silver’s expression shutters, Flint sighs. “Go and wait in my cabin if you like. We’ll take care of this.”

Silver blinks and takes a quick look around them. He blanches. “Alright. I’ll just…” And he waves a vague hand toward the _Walrus _. 

Only when he’s safely across does Flint turn around to bellow orders to the remaining crew. 

They make quick work of the Dutch ship and her few living men, leaving them stranded on a damaged ship with only enough supplies to last them a few days. This is a popular trade route, however, and Flint knows another ship will more than likely be by in a day or two. If the ship doesn’t drift too far off course, they’ll be picked up soon enough. 

And he doesn’t think of them again as he makes his way back to his ship, and to Silver.

* * *

Flint steps into his cabin half expecting Silver not to be waiting, but he is. He sits on the edge of Flint’s cot, his arms crossed over the stained shirt as he stares at the floor. Silver has not changed his clothes, and that says more about his state of mind than anything else, but when Flint shuts the door, Silver looks up and stands. He takes a step forward as if he is unsure and then stops and waits.

“So, that went to hell, didn’t it?” Silver says, his lips curling into a forced grin that does not meet his eyes before it falls away.

Flint lost a lot of men today, more than he can afford, and although the prize is substantial, it is not enough to make up for the lives of crewmen, and Silver knows it.

“Yeah. It did.” He takes a moment to divest himself of his coat, weapons, and belt, and while he does, he watches Silver carefully. “Are you alright?”

Silver hesitates, and his obvious impulse is to lie. He wants to say yes, Flint can see it in the way he holds his mouth, but instead, Silver gives a sharp shake of his head. “Almost met my end, I think.” The laugh that arises is unnatural and strained. “That bastard got the hole in his back from his own man. Stepped in the way right at the wrong moment for him at least and I…” His voice wavers and he swallows, letting his words drift away. He blinks.

There is a moment when Flint wants to lunge at Silver, to cover him with kisses and possessive hands to reassure himself the blood he sees on Silver’s shirt is not his but someone else’s when he knows very well it’s Dutch blood. 

But he resists because Silver looks like he is about to shake himself apart where he stands. Instead, he steps up and wraps his arms around Silver’s waist and runs his open palms down Silver’s back. He grips the shirt under his fingers and pulls it up, and Silver’s arms rise to allow it. The soiled fabric drops to the floor and Silver flicks it a distraught glance before Flint steps into his space again.

“No. Here,” he whispers and leans in. “Focus on this. On me.”

Flint kisses him softly at first, a slight press of lips before he pulls back to see if this is alright. Silver’s eyes widen with shock at what Flint assumes is this newfound gentleness, but his breath is rapid and his fingers slide up into Flint’s hair. When Flint lowers his mouth to Silver’s again, Silver kisses back, a faint smile on his lips that Flint can feel before Silver angles his head and sighs. 

The tension pulling Silver’s muscles tight slowly dissolves away.

His lips are open now, and Flint takes advantage and cradles Silver’s neck in both of his hands. When his tongue meets Silver’s a small sound escapes Flint’s throat, a needy sound he cannot control and that lays him bare, and when Silver’s fingers tighten along his scalp, Flint lets go of the last bit of control he has, kissing Silver like a drowning man starving for air. Silver melts into his chest, and Flint surrounds him, covering him with his body, gliding his tongue over Silver’s. He is demanding, controlling, even in a moment as vulnerable as this.

He wants to own. To mark. To _ protect _.

And it is then he knows he is lost.

He cannot still his hands and they roam where they will. Goosebumps follow where Flint gently skims over warm skin and Silver’s breathing turns shallow. Then he is touching Silver’s hair, gently at first, carding his fingers through the strands to wrap them around the base of Silver’s skull.

Silver makes a sound that sends blood surging to Flint’s groin and suddenly he doesn’t feel like being gentle anymore. He growls, his blood burning under his skin. Curling his fingers, he grips Silver’s hair and tugs it back to expose his neck.

Flint leans forward and mouths the tendon that stands out, sucking on it, licking and nipping the spot until Silver is squirming in his arms, his hips with the thickening ridge of his cock jerking, his fingers now digging into Flint’s back, bunching his shirt up in his fists.

“Fuck,” Silver breathes, his voice shaky. “Bed. Please, for the love of God, Flint, take me to bed.”

With a smile, Flint readily obliges, walking them both back until Silver’s knees hit the Flint’s cot. Silver pulls back.

“I want to touch you, to see you,” Silver says.

Flint doesn’t hesitate. It’s too late, much too late for him now. Anything. He’ll do anything Silver asks in this moment. “Yes.”

Silver responds with a soft moan as he grabs on to Flint’s shirt and strips him of it. He pauses to look and then reaches out with a hand to run it down Flint’s chest, curving his fingers around and then down over Flint’s arse to caress him through the material of his trousers.

Leaning forward until their chests touch, Silver pulls him close, lining up their hips and their erections. 

Flint hisses and shuts his eyes to manage the onslaught of feelings, the wave of emotion that nearly overwhelms him at so simple a thing because Silver is warm, his smooth skin like velvet to the touch as Flint greedily runs his fingers down his back. 

Silver pulls and pulls until they both lay on the bed, twisting his body so he hovers over Flint. He presses his mouth down to Flint’s neck below his ear, warm and soft, more soft than Flint’s attempt at the same. Scooting and adjusting his position, Silver trails a line of licks and kisses down Flint’s chest, pausing to pay special attention to the scars left by Dufresne’s shot and Singleton’s blade, tracing them with his tongue, as if he wants to memorize the shape of them with his mouth. His fingers wander over Flint’s abdomen and then back up again.

“So many,” Silver whispers into his skin. His breath is warm and a wave of goosebumps rise in its wake.

Flint frowns, even as his heart trips in his chest and his blood zings under his skin. “So many what?”

“Freckles. I want to taste all of them,” Silver says, though the words are muffled because he is more interested in doing just that instead of speaking clearly. 

"So you've said before," Flint huffs. "Best get on with it then." And he allows all of this to happen, allows Silver to kiss his skin and map his freckles with his fingers and his tongue, to run a fingertip over his nipples again and again until Flint sucks in a breath through his teeth and Silver lets out a deep, throaty chuckle that ruffles the fine hairs on Flint’s chest and makes his cock throb. 

When Silver kisses his way up again, he settles on his elbows and looks Flint in the eyes. Flint’s fingers are still entwined in Silver’s hair, and he is inclined to keep them there, considering the fire that flares behind Silver’s eyes when he pulls. 

“Tell me what you want,” Silver whispers. 

Flint looks up and he wants to kiss Silver again, he wants to lick past his lips and feel the warmth of his tongue, taste him, but instead he wrenches back control to flip them over and reaches between them with deft fingers to unbutton Silver’s trousers without answering his question. He yanks them down and Silver sucks in his breath, angling his hips away a fraction, giving Flint room to manage the same with his own trousers until they are both bare from head to toe. When his cock is free, Flint lowers himself on top of Silver and he groans at the contact, biting his lip.

Flint has to close his eyes and grit his teeth to stem the words that want to fall from his mouth.

_ Yes. God, yes. Please touch me. It’s you. It’s you. It’s you. _

“Christ,” Silver whispers below him, and Flint opens his eyes. Silver drags his fingers down Flint’s back, scratching lightly with his nails. They pull toward each other, trapping their erections between them, and Silver arches upward, belly pressing into Flint’s. He pants, lifting his chin to the ceiling.

They start to roll together like waves in the ocean. Endless. Relentless. Inevitable.

The heat in Flint coils and concentrates in his belly. It is hot, it burns him from the inside out, and he aches. He focuses on the undeniable, passionate sounds falling from Silver’s lips as he presses his forehead against Silver’s collarbone and shifts to spread his legs to frame Silver’s thighs and rolls his hips in a fluid arc full of suggestion. Silver’s fingers curl deep into the flesh of Flint’s back and his head snaps down, eyes wide in surprise.

Flint moves, ignoring Silver’s expression, because fuck, it’s been too long since he’s had someone between his thighs like this, and he shudders with a moan at the extrapolation his mind makes. 

The fullness. The stretch and slide. 

He misses it. But this. This is good, too. 

When he grinds down, undulating his hips, Silver gasps and curses colorfully underneath him. 

Soon, their bodies turn slick with sweat and their cocks slide but it is not enough. Flint works a hand in between them to encircle them both, then Silver covers his hand with his own. Their hands work in counterpoint to the thrusts of their cocks through their fingers. 

Finally letting go of his grip on Silver’s hair to press his hand on the mattress near Silver’s head, Flint rises up and groans when he finally takes a good look. 

Silver is disheveled, his skin flushed and rosy, his pupils blown wide, eclipsing the blue of his eyes. His gaze is unfocused and he bites his bottom lip as Flint watches. 

Silver traces Flint’s lips with his fingers until Flint draws them in, sucking them, wetting them until Silver pulls them away with a quiet moan. Silver slides his hand over Flint’s arse, cupping and kneading at the flesh. Flint shudders when he feels the press of Silver’s fingers along his tailbone, and his cock pulses, leaking over their hands. 

Silver is staring at him now, the unspoken question in his hungry, heated eyes. 

“Yes,” Flint rasps and pushes back against Silver’s hand. The impatience of his desire bites at him.

Silver huffs and slides his finger along Flint’s tailbone and then down further until Flint’s cock jumps again. And there it is, a hint of intrusion, a tease of the possibility of another man inside of him as Silver presses just enough. 

Flint’s hand stalls over their cocks for a moment before speeding up, desperation creeps into his tempo, into his breathing. The inexorable pull of Flint’s orgasm beckons him and refuses to be ignored. 

He wants more, but he won’t ask for it, not yet. 

Silver curls up, lifting off the cot, his abdomen bunching as he licks and nips along Flint’s jaw, the stubble of the day’s growth catching in Flint’s beard. When he curls further, his finger pressing just inside Flint’s entrance, his tongue swipes over Flint’s nipple and then he draws it into his mouth to suck. A zing of intense pleasure shoots straight to Flint’s cock and at the same time Silver pushes with his finger until it is buried deep.

The world burns bright and Flint comes apart at the seams. A ragged shout into the dim light and his hips jerk, the movement pulling his nipple free from Silver’s mouth. He comes, his body convulsing as hot, wet jets of seed coats their bellies, their hands.

Silver follows with a shattered groan, their spend mixing, messy and divine. 

They tremble and pant through the aftershocks until Flint collapses on top of Silver, and Silver’s arms wrap around Flint’s back and his lips press against the damp mess that is Flint’s hair. He runs his fingers down Flint’s spine, a soothing motion that should relax him further, and yet, it does nothing but the opposite. 

There is a moment when Flint can’t catch his breath, when his heart beats wildly in his chest. He pushes against Silver’s neck trying to not let the gentleness of Silver in this moment undo him. Silver feels the tension rippling under his skin and stills his hands, though he does not disengage otherwise. 

“What is it?”

Flint doesn’t answer and Silver pulls away just enough to look at him. For a man as brave as he knew himself to be, it takes more than a little courage to meet Silver’s gaze. He can’t tell him what is welling up inside.

“Captain?” Silver is frowning, and Flint winces.

“My God, don’t call me that in bed.”

Silver pauses and then fingers through Flint’s hair. “And what am I supposed to call you then?” he asks, his voice soft. 

Flint runs the back of his hand over Silver’s jaw and his breath catches when Silver covers with hand and brings it to his lips before turning his head and meeting his gaze. 

“James. My name is James.”

It feels like a confession, and it might as well be. He’s not told anyone his given name in a very long time. 

Silver smiles, the small lines creasing the edges of his eyes beautiful. “Alright. _ James _.”

They lay for a while, staring at one another, arms and legs tangled, and words upon words build up in Flint’s head until they come out unbidden. 

“You need to be more careful.”

Silver shrugs but does not take his eyes off of Flint. They are serious and steady. “Of Dutchmen or of you?”

“Both.”

Flint has to shift aside as Silver sits up and hangs his legs off the edge of the cot. He glances over his shoulder at Flint before he leans down to pick up his trousers. 

_ Stay, _ Flint wants to say, but doesn’t.

“Are you trying to warn me off? It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?” Silver asks. Standing, he steps into his clothes and Flint is deprived of the brief but lovely curving view of Silver’s arse. Silver’s hair is mussed and there are splotches of pink against the gold of his skin where Flint’s beard or his mouth have brought blood to the surface. Anyone looking at him could tell what he has been up to, and Flint’s cock twitches in half-hearted interest.

But even the view does not deter Flint from what he means to say. “You almost got yourself killed out there today.” The vision of Silver lying still on the ground, covered with blood will not leave him.

Silver pivots and he is frowning, his eyes narrowed. “But I didn’t.”

Flint stands, heedless of his nudity, though he tugs at the coverlet off the cot to wipe himself down with haphazard strokes. His jaw flexes and he has to consciously unclench his teeth to speak. The movements he makes are jerky and stiff, all the post sexual lassitude of their encounter evaporated. “You nearly did. Next time you’ll stay—“

“The hell I will,” Silver bites out. “I’ve finally decided to be a part of this goddamn crew and do my part, so whatever the fuck you are going to say about me staying behind, I’ll not do it.”

The stained shirt is in Silver’s hand now, and the sight of it clouds Flint’s vision, turns it as red as the blood on the fabric. Flint doesn’t know where this conversation went awry, but it is wildly so now and his heart races and he shouts. “You fucking _ will _. You don’t know what the fuck you’re doing out there and you’ll end up getting yourself and probably someone else killed!”

“I’m working on that!” Silver throws up his hands in exasperation. “You can’t wrap me in swaddling clothes. I’m a grown man and— ”

Flint bellows, “A grown man who doesn’t know what’s best for him!”

Silver laughs, and it’s bitter. “And you do? Why the fuck do you care—”

“Jesus Christ, Silver! Because I fucking love you!“ Flint stops, but it is too late and he closes his eyes. _ Fuck. _

The silence that follows is deafening. Even the creaking of the ship seems to go quiet.

“What?” Silver finally breathes. “What did you just say?” 

After all of this, Flint cannot respond. He wants nothing more than to pull the words back into his mouth, to have them be a lie, even though they are not.

“James?”

Flint opens his eyes and Silver is much closer. The sun has almost set off the stern, and the light filtering in the room is rosy. It distorts what Flint perceives, makes him see Silver’s eyes glint and sparkle with moisture. 

“Tell me,” Silver whispers.

Flint looks away and realizes just how naked he is. His voice is rough. “You heard me the first time, you little shit.” He’ll not repeat it. He… _ can’t. _

Silver sucks in a breath, holds it, and then lets it go. “How long?”

“Long enough.”

Again the silence stretches out, and though Flint knows Silver does not feel the same, he pushes down the ache in his chest to straighten and look as dignified as he can without a stitch of clothing on his body. He feels Silver's eyes riveted on him and he flushes, his ears turning hot.

“You’d better go, Silver.” He nods toward the door. “The others will be concerned if you don’t show your face soon.”

Silver's expression is inscrutable as he studies Flint in silence, and Flint can almost hear the gears working in that calculating head of his. For better or worse, now Silver knows and the chances are high he will try to use it to his advantage.

But then Silver leans in and kisses Flint with soft, chaste lips before he nods before he turns and walks to the door. Flint blinks because he does not know what else to do, and when Silver lays his fingers on the handle, he looks back over his shoulder. 

“Call me John.” His gaze flicks over the cabin and comes back again. “At least in here, call me by my name.” He smiles one last time before he slips out the door and shuts it behind him. 

It is a long time before Flint can move again, and when he does, it’s to get dressed and sit at his desk, knowing full well sleep will be elusive tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> I eat kudos and comments for breakfast!
> 
> This work is unbeta'd, so if I missed anything major, please let me know. 
> 
> BTW, I really /do/ like Billy. He is just turning out to be an arse in this series for some reason. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
